The weekly Thibodaux sentinel and journal of the 8th Senatorial District. [volume] (Thibodaux, Lna. [i.e. La.]) 1875-1898, 1887-01-01
"Oh. NO; she never was

chafe the hands of the foe whom he
had found so strangely in strange
land.
Seymour grew quieter; he spoke in
slow, husky whisper.
s"You are right; she never loved
you. She loved me, and l her; you
cannot blame me for loving her, even
though you, yourself, did not
al! l not love Amy-not love-my
wifew Janeway's wondering voice
swelled with strange pathos, when
suddenly he paused and seemed to rec
ollect. "No matter. - But swear
to me this also. That you will never
forsake her."
Il Iswear," the husky whisper came.
And presently Seymour dropped into
d0ze. Af's
The day drifted by. The room was
silent and the heat intense. The VIM
dow curtains scarcely stirred.
A sister of charity came in.
aIs he living still" she asked.
"He will live, I think" said Janeway,
quietly.
The sister took his place, and he
went out into the street. He did not
go far, he walked slowly, looking about
him with grave and sunken eyes. He
could see Death striding through the
city, masked with the white and glar-
ing sunshines. He could hear the
cries of those in mortal agony-and the
cry of his own heart.
Patience" he said to his heart.
Tomorrow we will 60 to them-to-
morrow, when all is clear"
He hastened back to Seymour, who
still dozed, only rousing occasionally
to beg for water.
The sister went away and evening
crept on. The candles wasted slowly.
Janeway, leaning forward, his chin
lowered, his eyes lifted, looked at the
wasting candles. Perhaps between him
and their tame some phantom of the
past seemed floating; perhaps some
brightness of Amy's hair-the azure of
her eyes-for suddenly he drew hard
breath and sprang to his feet.
at shall not bev he cried between
his teeth.
The candle had burned out; another
sultry dawn was at the window. Jane
way, white with exhaustion, leaned
back in his chair. He had fought hard
with death.
The sun was rising, when a voice
came from the bed.
"Am better, or must die?"
Then Seymour, stirring, looked upon
the watcher.
"Philip Janeway," he said painfully,
IL thought it was dream"
The watcher turned his sunken eyes
upon him, but gave no answer.
The man on the bed moved with a
restless, fearful countenance.
"What do you mean to do?" he
asked tremulously. "Did you follow
us?" a.
"Follow you?" Janeway's voice
seemed to come from distance. eff l
had ever thought to do so, it would
have been years ago, not at this late
day." Rising, he said: II am going out
for time; when l come back shall
have something to say to YOU
| He seemed to pass unsteadily through
the door. Seymour's gaze followed him
apprehensiyely. t"i
He was not long away He returned
and sat down rather heavily. His pal
lid countenance was also stern.
Seymour's apprehension was visibly
heightened.
sam to live, or to die ?" he cried
out piteously. laU
When Janeway answered his. voice
seemed to come from afar. u u,
"Itis five years since" he said. Five
long years! In all that time what have
you done by her! Do not think to Ii.
while death stands near!" 80
"Ihave always loved her." the othe
pleaded. "She has been happy-sh'
has loved me. If only l had not com'
to this cursed place!" He grew will,
and shrieking, shook his powerles
clenched hands at Janeway. "Wel
you may sit and gloat upon my death
Fknow that am in your power-dyin,
at your curse. But here's my comfort
that she loved me always, never you
Her heart will break for me, and yo'
shall never have her back!'
Janeways voice seemed to draw neal
| than fade awav aOain. i" No her hear